


gone like the winter

by weatheredlaw



Category: Hansel and Gretel: Witch Hunters (2013), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Clint Barton Is Hansel, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Derealization, Diabetes, F/M, Magic, Male Witches, Name Changes, Non Canonical Immortal, Sibling Incest, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-23
Updated: 2013-06-23
Packaged: 2017-12-15 23:16:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/855108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weatheredlaw/pseuds/weatheredlaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gretel goes missing in the spring.</p><p>Hansel sits on the ground, digs in his fingers into mud and leaves, and says nothing.</p><p>There is no one left to hear him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had this idea a month or so ago and it's just been sitting around half finished for several weeks. Hope you enjoy.

Gretel goes missing in the spring. 

It isn't something he's expecting, not at all. So when Hansel wakes up and his sister isn't there, his first thought isn't to panic, but to wait. Because she'll come back.

She always comes back.

Except when she doesn't. He sits in the cave for an hour, and that's when he kicks himself, slams his fist against stone and regrets it later, nursing the stubborn bruises on his knuckles and turning the world upside down looking for her. 

Three days into it, his voice is gone, and now he's just throwing himself against a wall, throwing himself against _nothing_ , because she isn't here, she's gone, she's _gone_ and this is his fault, he was supposed to _protect her_ , his twin, his other half, his other self, older by a minute, shorter by an inch. He's supposed to keep her safe and now she's gone.

Hansel sits on the ground, digs in his fingers into mud and leaves, and says nothing.

There is no one left to hear him.

 

 

 

He tries all his old ways of finding people. It tarnishes the reputation that they've managed to build up, but Hansel can't find it in himself to care either way. He'd rather have his sister back than all the gold anyone could pay them. He only takes on jobs because he thinks the witches might know where she is, but fighting without Gretel is like fighting without his head. He's a lousy shot, noisy, and slow. He misses her, _desperately_ , and nothing seems to cure the dull, seeping ache in his chest. He drinks and it tastes like nothing. 

All it does is make him remember. 

Eventually, he comes to believe he's being punished, and spends nights trying to understand _why._

 

 

 

Hansel misses her most at night, when there's no one to snark at and roll onto in bed. No one to steal all his blankets and pile them up between them so they can twist their fingers together between the bedsheets. 

They were each others' best kept secrets. 

 

 

 

"I need to find my sister." 

The witch looks at him with a half-smile, turning down into a sneer. He lets it go. He's coming here because he's desperate and she can smell that, he knows. Good witch or not, magic makes everyone a little bit wicked. 

"Please," he says, and lowers his head.

She presses her fingers under his chin and lifts his face, looking into his eyes. Hansel doesn't look away, stares back and waits for her to back down. She doesn't, but she does let him go and give him a softer, kinder smile. Hansel feels his muscles unwind.

"Your sister is alive." The witch raises a brow. "But you knew that already." Hansel grits his teeth. "She's a witch. She--"

"My sister is _not_ \--"

" _Yes_ , she is. And so are you." The woman turns from him and begins sorting things on a table. "You and your sister are the children of one of the most powerful witches that ever lived in our world. Presumably, she intended to keep your heritage from you until you were old enough to understand, but she was stolen from us before either of you could achieve your full potential. Which is a tragedy, really. I've heard from the earth that your sister is capable of great things."

"You've heard from her?" Hansel's body winds up again and he lunges for her. The witch holds up a hand and he freezes, arms extended weakly from his body, face contorted in the reflection he sees in the mirror hanging on her wall. 

"Your sister has gone missing for very good reasons. She's the grand white witch, and she must be allowed to bloom. Your _lifestyle_ prevents that."

"So she was taken."

"Hardly. It was her choice to enter into the training. I haven't seen her yet, but from what I've heard she is doing very well." The witch looks up. "She didn't leave you to hurt you. On the contrary. Alone, you will be less of a target. Your power is incredibly dormant, Hansel. It would take incredible effort to bring it out."

Hansel feels his body unfreeze and he falls to the floor in an undignified heap. He pushes himself up to one knee, bearing his teeth. "Whatever you're getting at, witch, _spill it_."

She turns to him. "My name is Hanna. And if you would like to ever see your sister again, you'd do well to start treating me as an equal. And if not, as your superior." Hansel twitches. 

"I am not a _witch_. I'm--"

"A man?" Hanna rolls her eyes. "Humans and their hangups. Yes, you are. Some witches are men, some women, some no gender at all. Typically, males born as witches are stripped of their power." She shrugs. "Or kept."

"Kept."

"By other witches. Turned into beasts. Ogres, wolves, hellcats, trolls." Hansel thinks about Edward. "Your mother probably intended to raise you with your power, make you into something good. Something unique. Some witches like you are allowed to live, existing between worlds, finding other places where their kind can be accepted. Make no mistake, a witch's world is not a man's world. You will never be as powerful as any witch you ever meet. However." She smiles. "You will be able to do one thing."

"What's that?" 

Hanna looks at him, infinitely kind and sad. "Witches, Hansel, live almost forever. Men do not."

 

 

 

The only news Hansel gets about Gretel is from Hanna. She still hasn't seen her, and says that she's being kept very far away from anyone who may find her. 

"I doubt you'll see her any time soon. But we talked about this, Hansel." She hangs up her coat and puts a hand on his shoulder. "As much as it pains you, it's necessary to put Gretel from your mind. She's been asked to do the same about you. You're a weakness to one another."

Hansel wants to set his jaw, tell her that isn't true, but he knows it is. Working together, they're better, but he knows all the terrible, terrible things he'd do to anyone, to himself, to keep her safe. 

That must be why he's knee deep in magic, now, doing what Hanna calls kitchen magic, knocking pots over with a flick of his hand, steadying the focus of his aim. A week ago she handed him Gretel's crossbow and said, "Master it or burn it. The choice is yours." 

So he set to practicing every day, lining up targets along the low rock-wall around her house and firing off the arrows he'd been learning to make. 

Today, when Hanna comes back, Hansel is practicing without abandon. He woke up feeling coiled and angry and his hands were shaking so much he could hardly give himself his injection. 

"You're distracted."

"I feel like shit."

Hanna nods. "Come inside. There's something we need to do." Hansel puts down the crossbow and moves to clean up the mess he's made. It's one thing Hanna has instilled in him, that his messes are his own, no one will come behind him to fix what he breaks, be it his soul or a plate. "No, do that later. This is more important." Hansel follows her inside, cleaning himself when he's instructed to do so.

"I will never be able to cure you of your sickness. What ails you runs deep and I cannot pull it out by any magic I know. I have been reproducing the medicine you take, but it's time that you learned to make it on your own." She looks at him. "Can you d that?" 

"I..."

"Yes or no, Hansel."

"Yes. I can."

"Very well." Hanna smiles. "Let's begin."

 

 

 

Hansel learns to make his own medicine, and there's something about that, making the one thing keeping him alive, that makes him feel better. 

"Doesn't make sense though," he says. He's on his knees in the garden, wiping sweat from his forehead. "You keep saying I'll, uh. I'll be around for a long time. How can I be sick and still be around? And I swear if you say magic--" 

Hanna laughs and Hansel finally smiles along with her. 

"Where do you think your sister procured your medicine the first time?" At this, Hansel grows quiet and continues to dig. "You been spurning and abhoring magic your entire life, but it's the one thing that's kept you alive. You're a hypocrite of the highest degree, Hansel." She yanks a head of carrots from the ground and sets them in the basket between them. 

"Yeah, well, maybe magic'll fix that, too."

Hanna sighs. "Doubtful."

 

 

 

It's only a matter of time, Hansel figures, before he goes to bed with her.

Hanna has been around for a very long time, and to her, Hansel knows, he must seem like a teenager. The first time, she asks him if he'd like to sleep with her, and he says no, and that's that. She nods and goes back to picking off the dead bits of the herbs she wants him to dry. 

The second time, he says yes, but it goes poorly and he gets off too soon, coming earlier than he'd like and getting frustrated. She has to show him how to please her and he feels like it's his first time all over again. Hanna doesn't say anything, she just kisses the top of his head, smoothes his hair and sings him to sleep. In the morning, he's hard against her and she nods, guiding him inside her and it goes better this time. He works on getting her off first, trying to show off, now that he has his bearings. 

"Impressive," she murmurs and stretches her arms, laughing. "Very good."

Hansel falls asleep again without thinking about it, and when he wakes up, Hanna is bathing. He sits up in bed, leaning against the wall and watching her. She smiles. "You're up."

"Mmhm." He feels content and sated and healthy, stretching out and smiling at her. 

Hanna sets down her bar of soap and looks at him. "I'd like to ask you something."

"Shoot." In all his days here, she's hardly asked him a thing about himself. He leans forward.

"Did you love your sister?"

He grunts. "What kind of question is that, 'course I--"

"No. I mean..." She looks away. "Was she more than that, to you?" And now Hansel looks away. Hanna nods. "I see."

 

 

 

At some point, Hansel begins to lose track of time. There are days when all he can think about is finding his sister, and there are other days when he is content with the knowledge that she's alive, because he knows. He can always feel her pulse thrumming gently against his own.

When he leaves Hanna, he knows his own brand of magic and he knows how to hide himself, but as the years wear on, it becomes an easier and easier task. Towns become cities, and wood melts to steal. Hansel hears news that many witches have moved to America, and he follows them there, thinking this will be the place he finds his sister.

It isn't, but it is the place where he finally loses Hansel. 

 

 

 

Hansel needs a job, but he is struggling to keep up with the way this world is changing. He needs an easier way to blend. Hanna would know, he thinks, but Hanna didn't migrate with the rest of them, and so Hanna can't help him. _Your messes are your own, whether plate or soul._ And so Hansel decides it's time to lose some of his old self. 

When he walks into the circus tent sitting on the edge of some podunk Iowa town, he's a changed man.


	2. Chapter 2

" _Clint!_ Come down and show Jacques what you can do. That thing. The bow thing." 

Clint looks up from where he's tightening the string of his bow, glancing over his shoulder at Joe, the ring master he's been working for since '55. Jacques is a wiry man with a clean-shaven face and a dark bowler hat. He looks more like a businessman than a talent scout, and Clint has the feeling Joe's still trying to sell, even though he swore he wouldn't. He fires off a series of bullseyes for Jacques's viewing pleasure, but he hardly seems interested. He does, however, stare after Clint's bow. 

That makes him nervous.

Jacques never comes back on a deal for the circus, but he and a few goons ambush Clint outside a bar in St. Louis.

"The bow. Where did you get it?" Goon A lands a solid kick in Clint's side. He laughs through it. 

"Aw, man, you're trying to commission me? That's what this is?"

"Commission...you made it?"

He spits blood and stands. "Yeah, asshole, I made it. I could whittle you a nice stick for you to shove up your ass, if you'd like." Jacques jerks his head and Goon B makes to smash his fist in Clint's face, but Clint's faster. "No, no. We're done playing this game. You picked the wrong night, fellas. Though I was hoping to skip town a little later than this." Clint shoves the three of them back with a quick motion of his hands, keeping them pinned to the ground. "Buy Joe's circus," he says. "Buy it and don't look back. He needs the money and you could do with a hobby."

"Demon!" Jacques snarls. "Unhand me--"

"Nah." Clint spits again. "No demons here, friend. Just us witches." He waves his hand. "It'll wear off in a bit. Do what I say, I know where you sleep at night, yadda yadda, make good choices and always eat your veggies. Ciao, boys." 

In the morning, Clint's on a train for the East Coast. He hasn't been back that way since his boat landed forty years ago, but the West Coast seemed too exhausted, and he still feels like there might be something out there for him yet. He starts in Florida and makes his way up, beach after beach, year after year. In time, it's like he wasn't ever Hansel at all. 

In time, he almost forgets that name.

Almost.

 

 

 

It's a long time before Clint meets Nick Fury. It's 1987, actually, when it happens, and Fury doesn't need to look at Clint twice to know he's not exactly normal. Takes one to know one, the saying goes. Clint lets himself be circled, poked and prodded for a bit by Fury's scientists and geeks. When they're done, they leave the two of them alone and Clint expects Fury to ask for some kind of explanation, some kind of answer.

Instead, he asks if Clint has a last name, if he's ever been the Moscow, if he'd like to leave the circus.

"It's Barton, sir. And I love Russia in the summer."

 

 

 

He doesn't hear the name Hansel, even off his own lips, until ‘98, when he's walking back to his apartment.

" _Hansel!_ "

A woman is screaming it, and her voice carries in a way that it hits Clint right in the gut, brings him back a hundred, two hundred years and there he is, standing in the woods, gun in his hand, watching his sister laugh and laugh and laugh, rolling on the ground with it. 

Clint Barton turns away from Hansel and gets an armful of kid. 

" _Oof_ \--" The kid smacks right into Clint's legs and falls back. 

"Hey, you--"

" _Hansel!_ Hansel, what is the _matter_ with you?" A woman with red hair in a long, wiry braid that sends him reeling again rushes toward them, scooping the kid in her arms. "Baby, what's wrong?"

"Monsters, mama. _Monsters--_ "

"Everything okay, ma'am?"

She looks at Clint and smiles. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, he's scared of the construction sites, they're so loud."

"Yeah, they're hard to get used to." Clint tilts his head and smiles at the kid. "Monsters, huh?" He nods. "Yeah, I know a few things about monsters. Name's Hansel?" The kid nods again. "Good name. Good choice." Clint smiles at the mother and looks back at Hansel. "Hey, you know what? Monsters, they're not so bad. All you gotta do is just--" He aims with his finger and thumb, the shape of a fake gun. "Fire." 

The mother frowns. "I think we're done here. Come on, baby, let's go home." She turns away from Clint and heads back the way they came. 

Clint watches little Hansel aim his finger and thumb at a passing dumptruck and fire. 

 

 

 

When Clint first meets Natasha, he thinks she might be a witch.

She carries herself like Hanna, with poise and agelessness and grace. It might be the reason he doesn't do what he's supposed to do, because Clint can still remember the way villagers would string up innocent women, just for bringing babies into the world.

"Agent Barton, _take your shot_."

"Got a better idea."

" _Agent Barton, you--_ " Clint shuts off his comm-link and rolls his eyes. _Whatever._ The Black Widow is down, for sure, but she isn't dead. Clint lands just next to her head and looks down.

"You better be worth it, ‘cause I'm about get my ass chewed out so bad I won't shit for a month."

The Widow blinks at him and gives him a toothy, bloody smile.

"Guess I owe you one, then." Clint helps her up. "What do they call you?"

He grins. "Hawkeye."

 

 

 

"Hawkeye" came from Joe, who used to tease Clint about perching in the rafters of the tent. It didn't used to have anything to do with his aim until he caught up with a different group in ‘79, and the name just stuck. People started forgetting what his name really was, and Clint started forgetting, too. 

Now, Hawkeye is a cover, a clever joke between himself and his bow. He has so many names now, he wonders if Gretel will ever find him, if he'll ever find her at all. 

 

 

 

Adopting the title of "Avenger" comes easier to Clint than anything else. Being here, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Captain freaking America, Iron Man, Nat, Thor, the _Hulk_ \-- it sort of feels like being Gretel, and Ben and Edward again. Those couple years after, fighting together until Ben found a girl and Edward needed solitude. Being a team was unique and made Clint -- _Hansel_ \-- feel proud, like he was a part of something bigger. After a while, he starts to think he may never see his sister again. After a while, he starts to think he may be okay with that. 

And then, of course, however many years later, Gretel shows up in the tower. 

Tony raises his hands. "Hey, whoa, Jarvis, who is this, how--"

"She's here for Agent Barton, sir." 

Steve turns to Clint. "Hawkeye, who--"

Gretel stands. She isn't a minute older than the last time he saw her, right before falling asleep in that cave. She's wearing a white dress and holding a wide-brimmed hat in her hands, smiling like she used to, with so much love and affection and a bit of mirth, a gentle, teasing light behind her eyes. 

"Hey, little brother." Clint says nothing, just takes a step forward and she matches him, tilting her head. She reaches out and brushes her fingers through his hair. "Oh, Hansel. What did you do to yourself?" 

Clint wraps a hand around her wrist and pulls it away. "I could ask you the same thing."

Gretel extracts her arm from his grip and turns, going to the table and picking up her phone. "I have a busy day, today, but if you'd like to fight this one out later, I'm more than happy to--"

"No. We talk about this _now_." Clint snatches everything out of her hands and tosses it away. 

Gretel rolls her eyes. "Do we? Right here?"

"You _left me_."

"To _protect you_ , Hansel. Which, I can see, was an absolutely waste, since you went right out and got yourself a fancy teacher and did _this_ \--" She waves her hands at his body. "--to yourself. How you managed to survive, I won't know."

"How we always used to."

"Right." She reaches around. Clint's still wearing his quiver from practicing. Gretel pulls out an arrow and spins it between her fingers. "I see you mastered my weapon, _Hawkeye_." The name falls off her tongue like a curse. Clint flinches. "Also, _Clint_? Where did you pick up this look anyway, little brother? A farm house?"

"Don't. You don't get to do that. You left me, what was I supposed to do without you, what did you expect __me to do?"

"Settle down! Get a real life, a _wife_ , have a _family_ \--"

"You _were_ my family, I didn't _need_ anyone else." Clint's hands are shaking and he grabs his sister by her shoulders. "You were _everything_ and then you took it away. What else could I do? I had to find you, I had to--"

"Is that what you've been doing then?" Gretel fixes him with a look, fire burning behind grey eyes. "All this time? Looking for me?"

"Some years, yes. Some, no." Clint lets go. "Sometimes I...sometimes I gave up. Sometimes I tore the world inside out."

"Sometimes you joined the circus." She laughs.

"No one asks questions there. It was easy."

"Right." She slides the arrow back in its quiver. Twisting her fingers, she produces a white card, a hotel name and room number embossed on it in gold lettering. "I'm staying here. Come by tonight and we can sort through this mess."

"Mess?"

Gretel smiles. "You and I have always been a mess, Hansel. You know that." She glances at Tony and Steve. "I see you keep good company." She lifts herself onto her toes and presses a kiss to his cheek. "See you tonight." 

 

 

 

Clint leaves Tony and Steve without any answers and goes to his floor, tearing off the quiver and tossing the bow across the room. He needs air, he needs to fly, he needs to jump and catch himself.

He needs to talk to Natasha.

Jarvis says she's on her floor and when he gets there, she's deep in conversation with Bruce. She takes one look at him and tells Bruce they'll catch up later and ushers Clint into the living room. "Tell me."

"She's here."

Natasha blinks, does that brilliant, _beautiful_ way of processing things, and nods. "Your sister."

"Yeah."

"Did you talk with her?"

"Just...just for a few minutes. I'll see her tonight. She's..." Alive, healthy, beautiful. "She's in the city."

"Do you want to see her?"

Clint scrubs his hands over his face. "Yes? I just..." He shakes his head. "I've spent so long doing this. I don't know." 

Natasha reaches out and takes one of his hands in hers. "You should see her. If anything, to get closure. Or to open something up. Start again."

"Natasha, it's been--"

"Yeah, I know. You've told me the story and I believe you, I believe every word. But she's your sister and you love her. You told me, you take care of family, no matter what."

 

 

 

The first thing she does is kiss him, bright-eyed, with rum on the edge of her lips.

The second thing she does is pour him a drink. 

They laze around on the oversized bed, trading the bottle back and forth after a while, counting the scars Clint's collected, pressing lips to places they haven't touched in ages.

"Who's Clint Barton anyway?" she asks.

"I am." He presses his lips to the back of her neck and she shivers. "I made him up, I became him. It was easy." Clint pauses. "You never changed your name."

"No." Gretel stretches against him, finally rolling him over and hooking a leg around his waist, straddling. "The grand white witch must remain resolute in her identity," she murmurs, like she's mocking some ancient text. "I became a few different people here and there. Nothing special. Nothing like what you've done."

"Hansel was so far away. I had to do something."

"Costuming, though? Shooting aliens and monsters?" She smirks. "I saw you on TV, in Paris. You were beautiful." She bends down and kisses him. "You _are_ beautiful."

Clint brushes the hair from her face. "I've missed you."

"And I missed you."

He should be mad, but it melts out of him so quickly, quick enough to catch the zipper of her dress and let it pool on the floor. Quick enough for her to undress him, kiss every part of him. 

"Hansel, Hansel, _Hansel_."

"I've missed that, too."

"What? Your name?"

No." He lifts her face by her chin. "Just the way you say it." 

"You're a sap, little brother."

"Maybe." 

"Mmhm." She kisses him again. "Come on, then." 

It's so easy to do this. She wraps her hand around his cock, guiding him into her and taking all of him. She gasps, bright and happy and rides him slowly, letting him squeeze her hips, thumbs stroking her sides. This is love, love, _love_ , he thinks, and he has missed being with her so much that it aches. It is a solid, real ache. 

" _Gretel_ \--"

"Shh. Just move, keep going. God, you feel amazing. No one feels like you. No one." He nods, not thinking about how he should be jealous that other men touched her, considering how many women he's tried falling for. 

" _Hansel_ \--" He drops a hand to her clit and circles with his thumb, bringing her off above him. She falls back, his cock sliding out. Clint moans, dropping forward and pushing back into her, thrusting until he comes. Gretel whispers quiet things to him, smoothing his hair back and drawing on the bare skin of his shoulder. "I love you. Come with me."

"Hmm?" Clint rolls over, stretching out and catching her hair in his fingers. "Come where?"

"Paris. Berlin. Anywhere. I'm going to Vancouver for a week and then I have plans to be in Moscow for a month. It's beautiful there right now."

"Gretel--"

"It would be a waste, wouldn't it? To look for so long and then part ways?"

"It wouldn't be if you'd call. Write. Visit."

"God, do you _really_ want to stay here and play hero?"

Clint frowns. "This is a responsibility I have now. I agree to this and, yeah, I like it. I like what I'm doing. I'm useful."

"We could be useful together. Like we were."

Clint sits up, staring at the wall, the decorative headboard and all its gold paint and delicate wood. He looks at his sister.

"I love you. I do. But we aren't who we used to be. And you know that."

Gretel presses her lips together and looks away. "I know. I just...I want to be with you."

Clint leans on his elbow and reaches out the stroke her hair. "You're a very busy woman."

"I've spent decades repairing the damage done by mother's death. Clans and families splintered. We're so much _stronger_ now. Have you felt it?" Clint nods. "We're connected, it's beautiful. There's so many lovely witches here, they're...oh they'd love to meet you. I've talked about you to everyone I've ever met, you know. I _had_ to. I had...I had to keep you with me somehow." She looks at him. "I am sorry. About the way I left you."

"Don't be." He kisses her forehead. "I know why you did it. And I think you should keep doing what you're doing." He kisses her forehead. "You and me? We'll find our way back to each other."

Gretel smiles. "We always do."

 

 

 

Tony looks at him. "You gotta tell me what's happening."

Clint raises an eyebrow. "I really don't."

"You're Clint."

"I am."

"But she called you--"

"Codename," he says. "Very complicated."

"Uh-huh. Sounds like it." Tony slurps on one of his putrid energy shakes and leans against the counter. "Didn't know you had a sister."

Clint is sorting arrowheads on the table. He doesn't look up. "Also complicated. Could you help me make something that goes _boom_ , but like, way louder?"

"Absolutely."

"Louder and more controlled."

"Already done. Also you're lying, but I've reached a point with you SHIELD freaks that I'm not even phased by it. Let's go play with explosives."

Clint shoves all the arrowheads into a box and grins. "Fantastic." 

 

 

 

_My dear brother,_

_I was so pleased to see you again after so long. Whatever you've done for yourself,  
it's worked wonderfully, and I couldn't be more proud or any happier. Having you   
in my life again is like being able to breath after all this time. You've healed me,   
Hansel. Clint. Whoever it is you are now, he is a good man, just like the one who   
took care of me, who I care for when he was sick, who stood by my side day after day. _

_I love you. Never doubt it. I will always make it back to you, and you to me. No magic  
can keep us apart, it would seem. I'd like to see this world try. _

_Please take care of yourself. I'll see you when I see you, I suppose._

_Your sister, Gretel_


End file.
